They kill, p.24
They Kill, page 24
The image of Mandy with an angler-fish mouth helped Sierra distance her mind from her body, so while she still felt everything that Mandy was doing – god, how she felt it! – she was able to think a little more clearly while her body kept responding to Mandy as if it was on autopilot. She needed something to use as a weapon. The bedroom light wasn’t on, but enough illumination filtered through the sheer white curtain over the window for Sierra to see. She turned her head toward her mom’s nightstand. Mom loved mystery novels and kept a stack of hardback books next to her side of the bed. She read every night before going to sleep, at least half an hour and usually more. Sierra had learned to love reading from her, and like her mother, she had a soft spot for mysteries.
No help there, not unless she wanted to smack Mandy on the head with a book. Somehow, Sierra didn’t think that would stop the woman. If anything, she’d probably think that Sierra was engaging in rough play and be turned on even more.
Sierra turned to look at her dad’s nightstand. He wasn’t a big reader, but when he did read, he preferred nonfiction, usually biographies, and he read only one book at a time. A thick tome on Abraham Lincoln lay on top of his nightstand, and while it would pack more of a wallop compared to one of Mom’s slimmer volumes, she didn’t think it would prove any more effective on Mandy. There were lamps on both nightstands, but they were small things made of plastic, and they’d make even worse weapons than the books. Beyond Dad’s nightstand, propped up against the wall in the corner, was a wooden baseball bat. Dad had always been uncomfortable with the thought of having a gun in the house with two small kids, so he’d gotten the bat for home protection, and he’d kept it even after his children had grown and moved out. He’d never had a reason to use it, as attested to by the thin layer of dust clinging to the wood. Sometimes Sierra and Jeffrey had teased him about it, called him Sowell the Slugger, and he’d laugh good-naturedly. The bat would be an excellent weapon, but it was so far out of her reach, it might as well be on fucking Mars.
Looking at her parents’ nightstands caused her to remember that they were dead, killed by Randall. Once more she saw their bodies lying in the family room, their clothes soaked with blood. She tried to hold onto the image of her dead parents, but Mandy’s scent – already strong – grew stronger still, as if her body sensed Sierra wavering and was determined to keep her full attention where it should be – on her.
Mandy lifted her head from between Sierra’s legs.
“You’re starting to dry up, hon,” she said. “Want to try something else?”
“Sure.”
Grinning, Mandy came up into a kneeling position and scooted forward. She slid one leg under Sierra’s, and one leg over. She then put her hands on Sierra’s hips to angle her pelvis just so and started grinding her cunt against Sierra’s, her body rippling like a serpent’s, large breasts bouncing and slapping against her chest. All that remained of the wound she’d suffered when Grace had forced Karolyn to stab her was a small puckered scar on her left tit, and even that seemed to fade as Mandy continued thrusting. She reached down to take hold of Sierra’s nipples between her thumbs and forefingers and squeezed hard.
Sierra’s body responded with a tiny climax, brief but intense. If felt so good that her thoughts became mushy again, and she knew she was on the verge of surrendering completely to the inhuman levels of pleasure that Mandy could generate in her body. And if that happened, she didn’t think she’d have the mental strength to pull herself back to reality again. She doubted she’d have the physical strength either. With each passing moment, she felt herself growing weaker, while Mandy appeared to gain strength and vigor the longer they kept fucking, as if she was a goddamned sex vampire.
Sierra was beginning to feel suction building at the point where their vaginas met, almost as if Mandy’s cunt were pulling at her, preparing to literally devour her. She wanted to believe that this was a ludicrous thought, but after the things she’d seen today, no idea seemed too far out to her anymore.
Mandy increased the speed of her thrusting until she was going so fast Sierra thought they were in danger of breaking the bed. She fought not to respond, but the heady tang of Mandy’s musk filled her nose and lungs, and her blood sang with her body’s insatiable need to be one with Mandy, to let the woman devour her and swallow her whole.
The scar on Mandy’s breast was gone now, the skin smooth and unmarked.
Sierra felt her identity, her very self, fading away, and she knew that if she couldn’t find a way to break free from Mandy’s spell in the next few moments, she’d be lost.
She still had trouble believing the transformation Mandy had undergone since they’d spoken on campus earlier in the day. Outwardly, she appeared much the same. The true change had taken place inside, and it had been so dramatic it was as if she were an entirely different person. Mandy was dead; long live Mandy.
She wondered what Mandy would think the next time she went to her office on campus and saw the photos of dead and bloody fetuses tacked to the door. Would she remember being the Mandy that had put those images up, the one who’d founded a campus organization to combat sex in all its forms, but most specifically gay sex? Or would that Mandy seem like a stranger to her, someone she couldn’t imagine ever being?
The photos….
Sierra had always hated looking at the goddamned things. They were a crude and blatant attempt at emotional manipulation, and there was something cruel about putting them on display like that. She’d always suspected Mandy got a sick thrill at the thought of all the people walking by her office seeing those images and being disgusted. Mandy didn’t care half so much about the issues of abortion – if she cared at all – as she did about hurting people she thought deserved it. That’s what Sierra hated most about those photos, and it was what she hated most about Mandy too. Sierra grabbed hold of that hatred and held on to it tight, as if she were a drowning woman and it was a life preserver.
Her body went rigid as she reasserted control over it. No matter how desirable Mandy was, or how much pleasure her body could give, she was an ugly person on the inside – perhaps through no fault of her own – and while Sierra could pity her, she most definitely did not want to keep screwing her.
Mandy sensed something had changed between them. She stopped thrusting against Sierra and gave her a questioning look.
Sierra smiled, recalling something she and Jeffrey used to say to one another when they were kids.
“You’re not the boss of me.”
One of Mandy’s eyebrows rose in surprise.
“Really? Well, if that’s how you feel about it, I suppose I’ll just cut to the chase and take you now. Too bad. I was so enjoying you. Oh well. It was fun while it lasted, but Momma’s tank is close to empty and it’s time to fill up. Goodbye, Sierra.”
She closed her eyes, threw back her head, and then Sierra felt agonizing pain as Mandy’s cunt began to eat her.
* * *
Randall came upon Jeffrey in the Sowells’ family room, silently regarding his parents’ bodies.
“Some of my finest work, I’d say.”
Jeffrey turned to face him. It was impossible to gauge any emotion in his damaged eyes, but his lips drew back from his teeth in a snarl.
“Why?” he demanded.
“Why the fuck not?” Randall countered. “Besides, what do you care? You’re dead. They’re dead.” He nodded toward Jeffrey’s parents. “As soon as I kill Sierra, you’ll be one happy dead family. Won’t that be nice?”
Jeffrey’s remaining hand shot toward Randall’s throat, but Randall swept his knife arm up and lopped off the boy’s hand. Like the other that Randall had cut off, this one burst into dust when it hit the carpet.
“That’s two for two,” Randall said.
Jeffrey didn’t react to the loss of his hand. Instead, he jammed the wrist stump, which oozed clear fluid, against the side of Randall’s arm blade. Randall yanked the blade away from Jeffrey, but some of the goo clung to the metal, and as Randall watched, the copper beneath it blackened. It felt like his arm was being eaten away by acid, and he cried out in pain. The black spread up and down the blade, and an instant later, it fell away to dust.
Jeffrey grinned. “One for me.”
Randall couldn’t believe the bastard had taken his whole fucking arm. Worse yet, he’d taken the Chuck blade – again! Well, he still had an arm left, didn’t he? He concentrated and his left arm became a long copper blade, just as the other had been. His last blade hadn’t been damaged as it sliced through Jeffrey’s hand, only after Jeffrey had smeared that clear glop on it. So long as this blade didn’t remain in contact with Jeffrey – or his clear blood – for very long, it should remain intact. That meant he had to strike fast and strike hard.
As soon as the change was accomplished, Randall attacked. He hacked off Jeffrey’s entire right arm, and it broke apart into dust before it hit the carpet. Randall took this as a sign that the boy’s power was starting to fade. Time to finish this.
He swung his blade arm toward Jeffrey’s neck, intending to decapitate him, just like that little fucker Stuart. But Jeffrey was able to bring up his remaining arm in time to block the blow. The blade sliced through the forearm and kept going, sinking into the juncture between Jeffrey’s neck and shoulder. But Jeffrey had managed to slow the blade’s momentum, so it only cut his head halfway off. Randall tried to pull the blade free, but it was lodged tight.
“Fuck!”
Clear fluid oozed from the wound in Jeffrey’s neck, and he smiled grimly.
“Want to see a trick?” he asked. “I learned it from Grace.”
He made a sound like he was trying to bring up a giant wad of phlegm, then he spat clear goo all over Randall’s face.
Randall screamed as the substance began eating away at his flesh, unmaking him wherever it touched. He wanted to try and wipe it off, not that it would have done any good – but he had only one arm, and that one was stuck in Jeffrey’s neck. Besides, the goddamned thing didn’t have any fucking fingers.
The death-blight spread swiftly. Randall’s scream died away when his mouth crumbled to dust, and once his head was gone, the rest of him went fast. Within seconds, Randall’s body, blade arm included, had been reduced to scattered bits of dust on the carpet.
* * *
Jeffrey kicked the dust and watched as it drifted in the air.
“Fuck you and fuck your Chucks,” he said.
He heard a loud thump then, coming from upstairs.
“Sierra!”
He ran from the family room, his head wobbling unsteadily on his neck. He prayed he’d remain intact long enough to reach her.
* * *
Sierra felt her spine buckling as Mandy’s body pulled at her, and the flesh of her pelvic area felt strangely insubstantial, as if it were becoming watery. She knew she had only seconds left, if that, and she struggled to lift arms that felt fragile as dead twigs and take hold of Mandy’s waist. The woman wasn’t grinding against her now. She was motionless, her body tense, head back and eyes closed. Whatever she was doing to Sierra, she was putting all her energy into it, was completely focused on herself. Sierra saw her chance and took it.
She gripped Mandy’s waist as hard as she could and twisted beneath her. Mandy was strong, stronger than Sierra was now, but she hadn’t been expecting any resistance from her doomed lover, and Sierra took her by surprise. Mandy toppled off the side of the bed, Sierra rolled with her, and they hit the floor in a tangle of arms and legs. Sierra felt so drained of energy that all she wanted to do was close her eyes and let Mandy finish what she’d started, but she knew the next few moments would tell whether she lived or died, and if she wanted to do the former, she needed to get her ass in gear. She’d thrown them down on the floor in front of her father’s nightstand, and she pushed herself to her feet and lunged toward the corner where the baseball bat was propped up. She was so weak that her head swam with vertigo and her vision blurred. She feared she was going to pass out, and for an instant her vision did go black, but then her hand closed around the reassuringly solid wood of the bat’s handle. She felt a scrap of hope then, and it gave her a burst of renewed strength.
Mandy had pulled herself to a sitting position.
“Sierra, what the hell are you—”
Sierra picked up the bat, got both hands around the handle in a strong grip, then spun around and hit Mandy as hard as she could on the side of the head. There was a sickening crunch of bone, and Sierra felt the jolt of impact shudder up her arms. Mandy was knocked against the side of the bed, and she bounced back. Before she could fall to the floor, Sierra raised the bat and brought it down on top of the woman’s head. This time the noise it made when connecting with Mandy’s skull was even more nauseating, and for an instant the woman’s gaze met Sierra’s. Wordless understanding passed between them – not between Sierra and a monster, but between two very human women – and then Sierra hit her again. And again. She kept hitting her, and with each blow she felt a measure of her strength return, as if she was reclaiming it from Mandy.
When she was finished, the end of the bat was smeared with blood, hair, and bits of brain matter, and there were splatters of crimson on the bed sheets and on Sierra’s naked body. Mandy lay on the carpet, her head a grotesque blood-slick mass of torn skin and splintered bone. But she wasn’t dead yet. Her eyes stared up at the ceiling, but she drew in shallow breaths through a mouth that was now missing most of its teeth. The scent Mandy gave off had changed from an enticingly tangy musk to a sour ammonia stink that reminded Sierra of cat piss. Sierra was physically and emotionally spent, and she didn’t want to hurt Mandy anymore. As injured as she was, the woman was no longer a threat. Sierra could walk away and leave her like this for the police to deal with when they arrived. But she thought of the stab wound on Mandy’s breast, the one that had become a scar before finally disappearing altogether. Mandy was injured far more seriously now, but if she had the power to heal a stab wound, could she recover from the damage Sierra had inflicted? And could she do so before the police arrived? As dangerous as Mandy was, Sierra feared she couldn’t take any chances. Too many people had died today, and she didn’t want to be responsible for allowing Mandy to recover enough to harm the police and paramedics who responded to Marc’s 911 call.
She had to finish this.
She thought then of how Mandy had killed Karolyn, of the way she’d rammed the fabric scissors up between Karolyn’s legs over and over, blood spilling onto the floor of ArtWorks in thick, dark gouts. Mandy lay with her own legs splayed open, and Sierra saw a picture in her mind, an image of herself kneeling in front of Mandy and shoving the bat into her body and then pounding it in and out, in and out, reducing her insides to jelly.
An eye for an eye, she thought. Or in this case, a cunt for a cunt.
She almost did it. But in the end she was simply too fucking tired. She brought the bat down on Mandy’s head one more time, and the woman stopped breathing.
A great weariness came over Sierra then, and she dropped the bat to the floor next to Mandy. If this had been a cheap horror movie, the woman would’ve sprung to life, taken hold of the bat, and killed Sierra. But it wasn’t, and Mandy lay there, nothing more now than a slowly cooling corpse.
Sierra met Jeffrey on the stairs. She hadn’t thought to put her clothes back on before leaving the bedroom, but she wasn’t ashamed of her nakedness. Jeffrey was her brother, and he’d never made her feel ashamed in his life. He looked worse than ever, his skin an ashen gray that looked too much like the color of the dust his deathtouch created. One arm was completely gone, and the other now ended at the elbow. His head leaned to one side, and she saw a deep wound on his neck, one that oozed clear fluid. Add to this the Chuck wounds on his face and his damaged eyes, and he was, not to put too fine a point on it, a goddamned mess.
“Are you all right?” he asked. “I heard noises….”
“I’m okay. Mandy, not so much.”
Jeffrey was older and taller than her, but standing as they were, she found herself gazing down at him, as if she were literally his big sister. The role reversal felt strange and uncomfortable.
“Randall won’t be bothering you anymore,” he said. “From dust he came, and to dust he returned.”
“Marc?” she asked.
“No.” It was all Jeffrey needed to say.
Sierra felt only a distant sadness at this bad news. She was too numb to feel much more right now, but she knew she would grieve more fully later.
“I….” she began, but then trailed off. She had too much to say and didn’t know where to begin.
“It’s going to be all right,” Jeffrey said. His voice had a liquid rattle to it now, due to his neck wound, Sierra guessed. “You’re going to be all right. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
She moved to put her arms around him, but before she could touch him, he fell away to dust and was gone. She was sad to lose him again, but she hoped this time he would remain at peace.
She heard approaching sirens then – a lot of them – and she knew that Marc had managed to complete his 911 call before he’d died. She didn’t know if there was an afterlife, but if there was, she hoped Jeffrey and Marc would be together there.
She turned around and headed back upstairs. She’d dealt with enough shit today, and if she was going to have to talk to cops, she at least didn’t want to do it naked. She returned to her parents’ bedroom and went inside. She avoided looking at Mandy’s body as she gathered her blouse and leggings from where she’d thrown them before climbing into bed with Mandy. She went out into the hallway to put them on, feeling somewhat foolish for not wanting to dress in front of Mandy. Then she went downstairs, careful to avoid stepping on her brother’s remains on the way down.
